Dante moved toward the head position. Morwyn fell into step beside him as if she belonged there, matching his stride with the ease of someone who'd done it before. She lingered beside his chair as he took his seat, her hand resting on the bone-arch frame in a gesture that announced possession. Ownership.Mine.
Brynn stared at her plate. The dark porcelain reflected distorted blue firelight back at her, and she studied it like it contained the secrets of the ward system.
Pathetic.She was being pathetic. He wasn't hers. He wasn't anything to her. He was her jailer with a nicer title, and whatever his shadows did near her chair meant nothing. Shadows didn't have opinions.
She reached for her goblet. Steady hands. She'd take it.
Only when he gave Morwyn a polite but unmistakably dismissive nod did the woman return to her own seat, though not without a final lingering look that promised she'd be back.
The knot behind Brynn's ribs loosened. And that relief was more damning than the jealousy had been.
She took a long drink from her goblet and didn't look at the head of the table. Didn't look at the shadow still curled near the leg of her chair.
Didn't think about what any of it meant.
The meal began. Servants appeared from alcoves carrying food on trays of polished bone, their translucent forms weaving between tables. Brynn ate pale, glowing soup from a bowl carved from a single piece of skull, keeping her attention on the conversations around her. Gathering intelligence. Not thinking about silver-haired women with violet eyes.
She made polite conversation with Master Magnus about ward-magic theory while he probed her knowledge with casual questions, just as Naia had warned. Lady Vivienne listened with the attention of someone taking mental notes.
Let them test. She knew her work was solid.
Once, during a pause, she felt the weight of a gaze and glanced toward the head of the table without meaning to. Dante was watching her. Not the room, not the courtiers. Her.
His black eyes held something she couldn't name. Something that made her breath catch and her pulse trip.
He looked away first.
It was during the second course that the first real test arrived. A courtier from a lower position approached with rehearsed confidence and an elaborate bow that managed to be technically correct while implying condescension. Someone had sent him to probe her defenses.
"Miss Brynn," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I hope you'll forgive our curiosity about your unique circumstances."
She set down her fork, its handle carved from a single bone and polished smooth, and gave him her full attention. "What circumstances would those be?"
"Your rapid elevation from condemned prisoner to trusted advisor." His smile was poisonous. "It must be overwhelming to navigate such sophisticated magical concepts when you lack the foundational education most of us take for granted."
Questioning her competence while appearing sympathetic. Several others drifted closer to witness the exchange, waiting to see if she'd crumble under pressure. The blue flames in the nearest chandelier seemed to burn brighter, as if eager for drama.
She had no intention of obliging.
She studied the man for a moment, noting the way his expensive clothes couldn't quite disguise his nervous energy. The slight tremor in his hands suggested he wasn't as confident as he appeared. Someone trying to prove himself by taking down the new player. Probably put up to it by someone more important who wanted to see how she'd respond.
"You're right," she said pleasantly. "I do lack your foundational education."
His smile widened, thinking he'd scored a point.
"For instance," she continued, "I never learned that wearing jewelry enchanted to boost magical perception was considered adequate compensation for natural ability."
His hand moved instinctively to the amulet at his throat. A movement that confirmed her guess. She'd noticed the faint magical signature during their conversation and recognized the enhancement charm from her time studying ward-magic.
"However, I have learned that sometimes fresh eyes can see solutions that decades of 'proper education' apparently missed. Particularly when those traditional approaches have been failing spectacularly."
The man opened his mouth, then closed it again. No recovery from having your competence dismantled so publicly. On the tapestry behind him, a feast scene showed a nobleman choking on poisoned wine. She could have sworn he hadn't been choking before.
He managed a stiff bow and retreated to his seat, leaving the others to reassess their assumptions about the human tribute.
From across the hall, the shadows near Dante's chair had gone very still. When she risked a glance, he wasn't looking at her. He was watching the retreating courtier with an expression that promised consequences.
A shiver traced her spine.
